


Words to Live By

by InkFire_Scribe



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Cheesy, Desperate Jack, M/M, Romance, Season 1 Spoilers, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, radio abel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkFire_Scribe/pseuds/InkFire_Scribe
Summary: Soulmate AU - Everyone is born with the first words their Soulmate will say to them printed somewhere on their bodies. I took this and sort of ran with it in the ZR universe.Minor spoilers for Season 1 of Radio Abel.
Relationships: Jack Holden/Eugene Woods
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. If You Want to Live

_"Come with me if you want to live."_

On every person, somewhere on their body, there was something written. It had been there on the day of their birth, too small to read, and became clearer as they grew. Those words were the first that would be spoken to them by their Soulmate. 

Maybe it was a little silly to believe in such a thing. Maybe it was silly not to, since obviously everyone _was_ born with words printed on their body. But there were still people that thought it might not have anything to do with souls or love or anything at all, and even if the words on your body seemed to indicate that they would be said by someone that cared about you, what if the words were wrong? Or what if no one ever said them? Or what if "true love" was just a social construct? 

The debates had honestly been going on for longer than anyone could remember. There were historical debates along those lines going back hundreds of years. Hundreds. But no one who claimed to have "the answer" had ever panned out, really. That was okay. It wasn't something that would put food on the table and it certainly wasn't going to get him a ride for the next two days. 

"You've got to be kidding me. It's the biggest party of the year, and you're just going to... not go?" Jack stared at his cousin, unable to properly process what the man was telling him. "You're... you're seriously just not going?" 

Cameron didn't even look up from his phone. It must have been terribly important, whatever pictures he was looking at on Tumblr, or whatever. Didn't even stop scrolling. "Yep, that's exactly what I'm telling you. I'm not going. So if you want a ride, find it somewhere else." He paused a moment, just as if he'd been struck by an unexpected thought, though Jack could tell that he's been planning this since the conversation started. Cam liked to get one over on him like that. "Besides, you said your boss wasn't going to let you go, didn't you? Or has he changed his mind." 

Jack bristled. "He changed his mind alright," he muttered, and when Cameron finally looked up, their gazes met. And of course, because it was just too good a moment to miss, Cameron started to laugh. 

"You're kidding, right? You quit your job for the sake of a _party_?"

"Shut up." 

That was, of course, exactly what he'd done, but he wasn't about to admit that out loud. People already thought he was "emotionally unstable," but that was none of their business. He needed a break, and if his boss wasn't going to give him one, then obviously that wasn't the right place for him. 

Still, he rubbed the words on his left arm. They were on the inside, easy enough to hide if he wore slightly longer sleeves, but that would have been like admitting defeat. Like letting all those wankers know that they had gotten to him. 

_"Come with me if you want to live."_ Cheesiest pickup line ever, but... heaven help him, it would have worked, if anyone had just tried. No one had ever tried. 

Oh, there's been one or two, that girl Stephanie back in high school, then Jason before he'd quit that computer course... and Vick at the gym, before he'd let his membership expire. Those had been nice, and he'd learned stuff about how to get by in a relationship but heaven forbid he should meet "the one." Some people never did, and Jack was beginning to wonder, at the ripe old age of 24, if he wasn't going to be one of them. Maybe there just wasn't anyone out there for him cheesy enough to use that kind of a line. 

Jack shook his head. "Whatever. Look, if you don't want to go, that's on you. I'll just take the bus." 

Cameron snorted his laughter. "Good luck with that. If the driver even lets you on, I'll die of shock." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"It's supposed to mean, dear cousin, that you look like a hobo and smell like one, too. I'm surprised your boss waited until you quit. He must have been desperate." 

"Shut your face." 

Cameron shrugged, grinning, and turned his attention back to his phone. Talking smack to one another was part of the joy of being related. But that didn't ease the sting of being told he smelled like a hobo. Maybe it was time for a shower, after all. He'd probably have time for one in the morning. 

Or not. 

Jack found himself bolting out the door with a half-empty backpack, a piece of toast in his mouth, his shoes untied and wearing the same clothes he'd fallen asleep in as he bolted for the bus stop. The trip to the party didn't exactly improve from there, but it was at least a little calmer than how it had started. 

And the party itself was pretty good. Live music, plenty of booze and... well, other distractions. They'd announced the party would go for an extra few hours, maybe even a day, when he'd wandered off to take a little nap, feeling a bit down. Another swing and a miss on the romance front. He'd been cute, too. 

Oh, well. 

A nap would help. 

It seemed like he'd only just lain down for a few winks when a tangle of limbs, a yelp of pain, a heavy weight crashing down on him sent Jack out of his muddled dreams back back to reality, which seemed just as muddled. Flailing at the person crushing the breath out of him, Jack managed after a moment to shove them off and sit up. 

"Is the party over?" he mumbled, before realizing two things. First, this guy definitely wasn't dressed for a rave. He looked like he was decked out in camping gear, actually. And second, he was holding a length of steel pipe, staring at him like he was some sort of rabid dog. 

Oh, and the third thing. He was really, really good looking, even all sweaty and wild like he was. Bit of a turn on, really. 

There was a beat of silence while they stared at each other, then the stranger's gaze shifted ever so slightly to look over Jack's shoulder. That seemed to make up his mind. He shoved himself to his feet and offered Jack a hand. Dead serious, the guy looked straight into his face, tension just radiating off him, and the first words out of his mouth were:

**"Come with me if you want to live."**

How could he refuse? Jack's insides felt like they were suddenly made off... what, clouds? Helium? Feathers? He was lighter than he'd been in months. In years. He took the stranger's hand, still floored by what was happening, and only barely registered the wet, rattling groan in the bushes behind as his new best friend, his Soulmate, dragged him to his feet and out of the clearing, away from the biggest party of the year, away from the life he'd survived before. It was a brand new day, and things could only possibly get better from here.


	2. Good Job, Runner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Runner 5's experience with the Soulmate AU.   
> So much could have gone wrong. But when you have something to fight for....

The rattling, angry groans followed behind like locusts. Like the tide. Like the sunset. There was no escape. Not real escape, at least. There might be a safe haven somewhere up ahead. 

No time to think. A flying leap over a steep ditch. Maybe that would slow them down. Almost couldn’t hear the wet thud of a rotting body hitting the bottom of the ditch over the sound of heartbeat and rushing blood. 

Then, impossibly, a crackle of sound. The headset had found a signal. It was mostly static, mostly dead air, but there was something. A voice. The runner zigged and zagged, trying to find where the signal was coming from. It got clearer, fuzzed up, then cleared again. For the first time, there were words in with the static.

“…runner off the path.” 

For a second, it felt like the world had turned upside-down. Feet turned to blocks of wood and every little thing became a tripping hazard. A flash of black under the loose sleeve of a dirty tee shirt - a reminder - those were the words. Those were THE words. It took a minute to process the fact that the person was still talking. 

“…trailing about 20 zoms. Unknown Runner, if you can hear me, turn right toward the hill on your 3 o’clock. The slope will slow them down, and you can put on a good burst of speed on the other side. You’re only a couple miles out from the Township, and we can give you a hand.” 

It was easy after that. No way the undead would get to chow down on this runner if The One was waiting on the other side of that gate. Up the hill, over the crest - there it was. The top of a chain-link fence and a sturdy gate. The zoms were still behind, staggering, rattling, groaning. That one with the headband was bloody fast, and still seemed to handle hills pretty well. No time to slow down now. 

Like a horse turning into the wind, the runner forced aching legs and tired lungs onward, using the slope to gain speed. 

"Good job. Most of the pack is falling behind. You've only got three on you now, and if you can keep up that pace a little longer, we'll pick them off from the gate. You can do it. Come on, just a little farther." He had a nice voice, not to mention a cheerful manner. The runner decided he was definitely one worth liking. 

Pow. 

The nearest zom jerked and fell. 

Pow.

The bullet ricocheted, and the runner hoped fervently death wouldn't come in the form of friendly fire. The world was spinning when the gate finally closed behind the staggering runner. There was the unfamiliar voice in an orange hoodie, grinning broadly. 

“Good job, Runner!” That smile was the last thing in the world before everything went black. Good gracious. How embarrassing to pass out in front of The One. At least they’d have time to see the tattoo. And the lack of bites. That was something. 


	3. You're Not Alone

It used to come up a lot, before The End. Before Day Z. They would talk about it when the guys were a couple drinks in, or after one of the girls had just shot down am unwanted advance. 

_What does yours say?_

_I heard the closer it is to your heart, the sooner it’ll happen!_

Sam pushed the door open, half his mind occupied with the pack of zoms moving toward the gates. The rest of his brain was dwelling (as usual) on True Love and when it was supposed to happen. When everyone you’d ever known was born knowing what their True Love would say to them when he or she appeared in their life, but you never had… you started to wonder. 

A runner, ragged and bloody, staggered through the gates while the guards laid down covering fire. There was a moment when their eyes met, and Sam found himself grinning. A good run was a good run, after all, whether or not the runner was one of theirs. 

“Good job, Runner!” he cheered, and saw a faint smile flicker across the runner’s grimy face. Then the shoulders sagged, the eyes crossed, the knees buckled - it was Sarah that caught the new runner, of course. The next hour or two were utter chaos, while he was chewed out by Janine for letting a strange runner in, by Maxine for not warning her that an injured runner was coming in, by Sarah for not catching the poor thing himself, if he wanted so bad to rescue it. 

By the time everything calmed down, it was near midnight. Sam couldn’t sleep, so he slipped into the medical tent check on the newcomer. 

Clean now, and dressed in donated shirt and shorts - looked like Simon’s, but they could have belonged to anyone. And there it was. Black words on pale skin, up high on the left upper arm. 

**runner off the path**

He blinked. 

Sam knew that was something _he’d_ said. Hope stirred in him. 

Eyes opened. The runner was looking up at him, but didn’t say anything. Not a groan, not a grunt, not a greeting. The runner stared at him, and he stared back. 

“Um… you feeling alright? Doc said you’re clean, so you didn’t have any bites.” He smiled, far too aware of the way his heart was pounding. Calm down, he told himself, there’s no reason to get all wound up like this. 

The runner nodded. Then, unexpectedly, the runner tapped on the tattoo that showed the words “runner of the path” and pointed at Sam, eyebrows raised. 

“Um… yeah. That was me.” Sam’s voice shook a little, and he coughed, laughing nervously. “Sorry about… well, rambling a bunch. I know I shouldn’t, but when I’ve got a mic in front of me it’s hard to keep my mouth shut, you know?” 

The runner nodded again, but still said nothing. 

Oh crap. Was he blowing this? Was he giving off the wrong impression? 

“Well, I mean, if you’re not in the mood to talk, I could always just go. Let you sleep, and all. Sleeping is nice. Especially when you’re sure you won’t get eaten. You know?” Sam gave the newcomer an anxious grin, and was surprised when the runner reached out and grabbed his arm. The phrase “shaking hands with a bear” floated through his head - something his dad used to say about shaking hands with people who had a very strong grip. 

The runner tapped their throat and shook their head. 

When Sam stared blankly in response, the runner made a frustrated face and signed (very clearly, considering how recently they’d experienced nearly dying) 

_I can’t talk._

Sam blinked, said “Oh,” and felt like a fool. 

“ **Oh** ,” he said again, realizing for the first time that not knowing what words his True Love would say didn’t mean he had no True Love. It meant his True Love couldn’t speak. 

_Thank you_ , he signed back, and laughed when the runner looked surprised. _You aren’t alone._


End file.
